Not Alone
by WritingintheCandlelight
Summary: Eight strangers inexplicably find themselves connected together, each trying to navigate their own lives while simultaneously being immersed in a new world they hardly understand. Things only grow more complicated when it becomes apparent that the supernatural is not only limited to their strange psychic connection and that they are being hunted. Sense8 Fusion.
1. Being Reborn

It was too quiet.

There was something very unsettling about the fact that there were no whispers resting just beyond the edge of consciousness, no emotions just out of reach threatening to simmer over, and no foreign sensations that brushed teasingly and lingered on the skin. There was nothing, save for silence, emptiness and solitude. It was lonely. It was torture.

Most of all, it was strange to think that this was the way that most normal people lived their lives. It was like they were forever confined to the limitations of their own bodies, their own minds, and they would never be able to experience something outside of themselves. Those poor souls were damned to live an existence of constant aloneness.

 _A fate too cruel to speak of_ , a woman thought solemnly, walking unsteadily through the dense trees around her. _My fate now too…_

It had been a few hours of tripping through the woods. She had lost track of just how long she had been wondering, stray branches clawing at the loose tendrils of her dark hair, mud clinging to her bare feet and staining the fabric of her white nightgown. She had only the sporadic silver rays of the moonlight peeking through the sparse canopy to guide her steps and it was a hazardous journey. She was almost there though. She could feel it.

The woman stumbled unexpectedly over an uplifted root. It was not the first time this had happened, but it was the first time that the ground swiftly approached. She reached out to catch a nearby tree in front of her to stop the sudden descent, but her reaction times were off and she came up inches short. She hit the ground hard instead, feeling not even the slightest twinges of pain, the small tin box she'd been carrying clattering down beside her.

For a moment there was only stillness, though eventually a dazed laugh escaped her at the ridiculousness of it all. She was a grown woman running away from an invisible enemy, trying to get to the one place that had always felt safe and even nature was against her. Her laugh rapidly dissolved into a whimper when it became apparent that there was no one here to pull her back up and set her right again. No one was coming.

 _Alone…_ she thought miserably, and even like this it would probably never quite sink in that she too was damned to be on her own. The medications thrumming throughout her bloodstream ensured that. She despised the way the treatments turned everything to fog, the silence surrounding her like a shroud, excluding everything that she had become so reliant on over the past six years.

This was definitely not an indefinite solution. She had determined that after the first night alone, body feeling light as a feather and sight a prism of color, the syringes and stolen medicine abandoned beside her in the decrepit apartment she'd been squatting in. It clouded her mind just enough to make everything disappear, leaving her isolated and suffocated all at once, while leaving her with just enough mental capacity to stay hidden away from everything.

This was no way to live. She was not strong enough to survive this loneliness… not like the others, what few of them remained. She had let them talk her into this, but it had quickly become too much. She could never live this way indefinitely. She had been trying so hard for the past few months, but every second submerged in this numbed state had eroded the resolve that it was worth it bit by bit. The most this disconnectedness gave her was time… time enough to come here. To see _them…_ it had been so long.

She was almost there.

It took some effort, but the woman managed to rise onto her knees, making sure to pick up the small tin as she did. She felt suddenly grateful to find another use for the copious amounts of pain medicine in her system when she discovered that her wrist had been crushed beneath her in the fall. It looked swollen already, perhaps a sprain or maybe even a fracture, but that was only a guess. She hadn't felt anything.

Standing wearily, the world turned over unexpectedly, and she blinked several times to clear her vision, body threatening to fall over again. She breathed out when the wave of dizziness passed. She still felt as though there were butterflies in her stomach even with her equilibrium regained. She resumed her walk resolutely, knowing that time was running out. She imagined she would have to dose again soon.

The others would know what she was planning as soon as her head cleared.

They would try to stop her. As much as she longed for them all, their good intentions would only leave them all more vulnerable for the real enemy. Her presence was placing them all in danger. She could continue to hide and live in this wretchedness or do something worthwhile that would protect them all. She had never been the brave one. She had never been the clever one. She would have come back here sooner if she was, but now was the time to be brave and clever and protect the people she loved.

Eventually the moon retreated and the darkness gave away to the first golden rays of sunlight. She did have to stop at one point to nap against a boulder and again to dose when everything began to clear, but by that point she knew she was only a few more miles away. She let the sun warm her face as the trees began to thin out, uneven mounds of dirt and leaves and roots giving way to the flattened roughness of asphalt and concrete.

It was the first sign of civilization in days. She took a moment to catch her breath, feeling wary and elated at the same time, and then resolutely forced her feet to move down the street. It didn't take long to come across a familiar sight, the old wooden sign depicting a large tree lush with foliage above the bold words. The last time she had seen it had been six years ago, looking over her shoulder regretfully as the car sped away, leaving everything and everyone behind.

 _Beacon Hills_ , the sign proclaimed, and never before had two words caused the amount of grief and regret she felt at the moment. She was home. She had dreamed of this, of returning, ever since making the decision to leave. Coming back felt different than she thought it would, no welcome sense of belonging after so long away or relief at being back. She only felt desperation and defeat, knowing this was her only chance.

Reaching out hesitantly, her fingertips extended to brush against the letters carved into the wood as if they might disappear any moment, blinking away the tears that threatened to fall when she felt the solid permanence beneath her skin. Her brown eyes looked beyond the weathered sign, swallowing the thickness lodged in her throat when she noticed some of the taller buildings visible over the treetops.

"You said you would stay in Florida," a sudden voice came from behind her, the quiet accusation cutting through the quietness. "You said you would stay hidden."

The woman felt as though everything was crashing back to the ground at the familiar tones. He came out from behind her, walking around to look at the sign with a disapproving frown, before turning to look at her with that same look. Even with the critical gaze, he was a sight for sore eyes, and her heart leaped for joy at seeing him after so long apart.

It had been months since they last saw each other, but her initial delight faded almost immediately. He was here with her. He was in Beacon Hills, California… when he should have been in Ontario, Canada. She drew in a shallow breath, blinking rapidly, and turned around. She could see shadows hovering there, blurred and transparent, and not entirely formed yet. Her head felt less heavy. How long had it been since the last dose? She couldn't remember. She thought it had been moments ago, but it was difficult to keep track of time like this.

"I lied," she said blithely, unrepentant even as the blurred phantoms before her began to take familiar forms, their own judgmental gazes mirror the one now aimed at the back of her head. She ignored them all, focusing instead on opening the tin box clutched in her shaking hands, revealing the single syringe inside nest to the small vial. She closed her eyes with a grimace. There was only enough for one dose left. "I'm not strong like the rest of you, Alan. I can't do this."

"You are the strongest of us all," he said, voice imploring and earnest. He rested his hand on her shoulder. She could feel the heat of it warm her chilled skin and it made her body shake. "We have a plan. You just need to give us more time."

It actually sounded as though Alan believed that, but it just made a bitter laugh catch in her throat. "You said that when we they first found me and we came up with this ridiculous plan. It's been months…" Her voice cracked on the words, hot streaks falling down her cheeks. "It's been months, Alan, moving from place to place, being alone and helpless… drugged out of my mind." She shrugged his hand off and brought the nearly empty vial up, finally turning to meet his eyes evenly. "I'm out of time."

Alan shook his head, reaching out to stop her as she prepared the injection with practiced ease, but she pulled away from him decisively. "Please, just wait a few more—"

"I know what has to be done," she interrupted, tapping on the side of the plastic and depressing the plunger a bit to get the air out. She clenched her eyes shut tightly and pressed the needle into her skin. "I just need to do one thing first."

"No! Cla—"

"Goodbye Alan."

Alan cried out her name in protest, but it was too late. She had already injected herself and his voice grew fainter as the moments ticked by, the medicine forcing him far away until eventually there was just quietness. She wasn't sure just how long she stood there, but her eyes felt heavy when she finally opened them. Even everything came back into focus, Alan was gone and she was alone again. She wiped at her face silently and abandoned the tin beside the sign.

There wasn't much time now.

…oOo…

Beacon Hills was almost exactly how she remembered it.

It had always been a relatively small town, but it was a busy one with a decent population. It certainly lacked a lot of the usual amenities that larger cities possessed. There were no commercialized retail stores, almost no food chain restaurants, and there was practically no form of entertainment beyond a bowling alley and a movie theater, but that was all part of the charm that had endeared it to her to begin with. It had grown a bit over the last six years, but it still felt the same as she wondered further into town, navigating through the familiar streets with ease.

It still felt like home.

The only disadvantage was the fact that it was difficult to go unnoticed. She imagined it was hard not to look at the crazy looking woman faltering along the sidewalk, dark hair wild and unkempt with stray twigs and leaves, nightgown torn in various places, and body caked in dried mud from her hazardous journey through the woods. She must be a sight. She could even feel the suspicious frowns and curious gazes of the gossiping old women who peeked out from their floral curtains as she passed their houses, most likely moments away from phoning the sheriff soon to report a suspicious looking character in town.

Years ago her husband had been a deputy. She wondered if he still was and if he would be the one to respond to any of the calls about her. It was still early though. He would probably still be at the house, still getting ready for the day. He never could function without copious amounts of caffeine. Just as well, she wondered if he could handle the shock of coming to investigate and quite possibly even arrest the wife he thought he buried long ago. It would probably be safer for them all if no one else saw her. She wanted to hold him again though. To cling to him and never let go. She sped up, walking faster, turning down the familiar road.

The house looked a bit different.

The home had been an older one when they purchased it, but a little love and care into replacing the siding and the ramshackle shutters had done wonders back then. She paused at the mailbox, taking in the faded paint of the house and the unmowed lawn, a sudden ache in her chest at standing in front of after so long. Her garden had grown a little wild in her absence, the flowers alive and healthy but untended to, though the swing her husband had built and hung on the front porch one anniversary was still in pristine condition.

Climbing up the front steps slowly, she tailed a hand along the familiar coolness of the wrought iron bannister behind her. She sat down in the swing and breathed out slowly, the pressure in her chest easing little by little as she rocked. It was still too quiet, save for the distant sound of traffic and birds chittering in the nearby trees, but it felt different here, as if the loneliness was more bearable in this setting. She supposed it had to do with the fact that this was home.

That made all the difference.

Reaching beneath the armrest, she smiled as her hand encountered the little notch in the wood. She scraped her dirty fingernails against it until it loosened, grinning faintly when the thin sliver of wood fell into her open palm along with the hidden key. She stood up, blinking leisurely as the world spun briefly, and then made her way to the door. Her hands shook as she pushed the key in and turned it, feeling more uncertain than ever as the lock clicked, and she grasped the handle and twisted.

The door swung open with a soft creaking noise.

It was dark inside, curtains drawn and no lights on. Her heart fell with the realization that no one was home. She might have been wrong about the time. It was probably later in the morning, maybe even sometime in the afternoon, but none of that mattered because she had missed them either way. She stepped inside anyway, closing the door behind her and leaning against it, and the first real thing she noticed was the smell. Sandalwood, whiskey, and gun oil… her husband.

Tears welled in her eyes again and she pressed a hand to her cracked lips, a broken laugh escaping her at the familiarity of it all. She never would have guessed that she would miss that particular smell. She used to complain so much about how pungent the gun oil was, especially when John would lay out each weapon on the dining room table and clean them there where it would linger for days, but now it made her want to weep.

The house was a bit more cluttered than she remembered. There were new pieces of furniture in the living room, boxes of paperwork piled high along the floors and folders strewn about, though there were a lot of recognizable things as well. Her antique side tables still adorned either side of the sofa, that old vase her aunt had given them as a wedding gift was beside the new flat screen television, and even the longcase clock her grandfather had left her stood tall, still ticking away opposite of the staircase. John had threatened to turn the clock into fire wood almost every night when it went off, but it was still here and still working.

Everything was still here. It was a bit overwhelming to be surrounded by it all.

There were unfamiliar pictures on the walls too. She recognized some of them, having placed them there herself. Their wedding photo was still where she hung it in the family room, as was the collage of their European honeymoon. Various pictures of her son still adorned the staircase walls, everything from the first ultrasound to his first Halloween dressed up as an adorable pumpkin. She smiled at the one of his fifth birthday party, when he had demanded everything to be in orange and blue in honor of the Mets. She recognized everything up until he was about ten.

That was where the wide, perpetually happy smile on his face seemed to dim a bit in the pictures. She had never seen that look on his face. Her son had been an enormous ball of energy with a thousand different smiles for every occasion. It took several moments of looking to realize that she was probably the reason he looked so unhappy, her eyes lingering on an older one of him clinging to her ankles. She forced herself to look away, continuing her ascent up the stairs, and she paused at one that must have been taken when he was thirteen or fourteen, dressed in the maroon colors of the Beacon Hills Lacrosse Team.

It was the first photograph from after she had left that his smile appeared genuine. The sight made a smile form on her own lips, proud of him and how much he had grown. Her son had grown into a young man while she was away. He looked so much like her, his eyes the same shade of brown, the same bowed lips quirked to the side in a sort of mischievous way, and he even had her slightly upturned nose. He seemed to keep his hair shorn close to his head, and his face still held traces of youth, cheeks still round and soft with baby fat, but he had inherited his father's strong jaw. Her baby had grown so much… and she had missed it all.

Tears fell in spite of her efforts to contain them. She pressed the heels of her palms to her eyes as the sob welled in her throat. She had missed everything. His last day of middle school, his first day of high school, his first school dance… she wondered if he had good friends, if he had a girlfriend yet, and what his grades were like. She had so many questions. He had always been incredibly smart. She liked to imagine that he was the top of his class. That he was enjoying high school.

Everything seemed to still when she encountered a photograph of a woman she didn't recognize at the top of the stairs.

Something akin to panic kept her immobile for several seconds, unable to look away from the woman that seemed to be dressed in purple hospital scrubs, curly dark hair pulled back out of her beautiful face. It seemed like a recent photo. _Oh…_ she thought, suddenly aware, possibly for the first time, that her family had thought her dead for the past six years. That was long enough to move on. More than enough even. She stumbled away from it, freezing in place when she found herself standing outside of the master bedroom; she backed away from the door, not sure that she wanted to enter a space that her husband might share with another woman.

It was not as if she could blame him if he did. She might have remained loyal all these years, but she was the one who abandoned him. She was the one who had essentially died, leaving him to raise their son on his own. Her reasons were irrelevant, because she knew what it must have done to him. He was allowed to find comfort and love, even if it was with someone else. Her tears were flowing freely now and she made no move to stop them. She had brought this pain on herself after all.

Instead of dwelling on it, she turned to find out more about her son.

Finding his bedroom was easy. It was the same room, painted in the same soothing blue tones, and only the furniture was different. A twin bed situated in one corner and a desk and dresser along the other wall, with the built in bookcases near the closet. He had posters hung up on the walls, bands and movies she had never heard of, and homework laid out on nearly every available surface. She let her eyes scan a few lines of one paper, grinning when she noticed a test that showed he had received a grade of a hundred percent on it.

Every little thing revealed a piece of the young man, be it the books and comics lining the shelves or the heart healthy recipes that had obviously been and pinned to a cork board. Her son was a stranger. She regretted that most of all. There was not a day that had gone by without thinking of him. He was never far from her thoughts. There was no question about whether he thought of her or not. There was a picture of her on his desk, the frame and glass smudged with fingerprints. He touched it often. She reached out with a smile to pick it up.

"There you are," a soft whisper came from behind, cruel and taunting.

Fingers stopping mere inches away, the woman whipped around with wide eyes. The phantoms were back again, vague shadows growing closer and slowly taking form, but one of them was unwelcome. One of them, the one who spoke, was a specter that haunted her. The reason she had been subjecting herself to this half-life, the reason she abandoned her family… she was running out of time. She sidestepped them all and raced back down the stairs.

The phantoms began to follow.

…oOo…

It was well after midday when the woman finally stopped running.

Everything was alight with a startling clearness as the effects of the medications wore off, working themselves out of her system even faster with the physical exertion. She was alone, but not entirely. She could feel them hovering nearby, keeping their distance yet still there. She felt grateful for their presence after the scare at the house. She would rather not be alone when it happened anyway.

There had been no clear destination in mind earlier, but even moving one foot in front of the other blindly had brought her exactly where she needed to be. She wondered into the parking lot, idly observing the many vacant vehicles parked in the spaces, and made her way to the far end nest to the woods in order to wait. There were a few parents milling around in wait for their children to be released from their final classes, but unlike them she would be keeping her distance. She just wanted to see him.

… _One last time_ , she thought. _Then I can let go._

Hiding beneath the sigh that stood tall in support of the _Cyclones_ , she waited patiently, no longer feeling the same urgency as before. She really was out of time now. She could even feel the danger growing near, but she refused to hide any longer. It was too late to hide now anyway. Alan had said she was the strongest of them all and he had been wrong, but right now she had to be otherwise they would all suffer for it.

Four of them had already perished. They had been picked off, one by one, slain by bullets, scorched by fire, and cut into pieces under the guise of surgery. The last had been lost to them all since the beginning, denying them all, and even working with the enemy… he may as well have been dead. She refused to bring the rest down though. Alan and Marin were all that she had left beside her family. She had already set the wheels in motion and now there was no possible way to stop what was to come. She would protect them. She would protect them all.

"I knew you would come here," Alan said from beside her. He no longer sounded condemning about her decisions or even urgent. He sounded resigned, even defeated though, like he was already grieving. He knew there was no chance of stopping her. He knew how stubborn she could be once her mind was set. "He should be sixteen now, right?"

"Sixteen," she confirmed, nodding her head. She allowed herself to lean alongside him slightly, taking comfort from his presence warm against her. "You should see him, Alan, He's so big now, so handsome, just like his father…"

"Yes," Alan hummed in agreement. "He has your eyes and your smile though."

"I am so proud of him."

Alan nodded. "You should be," he said, dark eyes roaming over the parking lot just as the shrill sound of the bell signaled the end of school. He spotted a familiar vehicle and nudged her gently, gesturing to the front of the school where it was parked.

"I can't believe that John let him have that old rust bucket," she laughed, but Alan only smiled, one eyebrow raised. They both knew she loved that old blue Jeep. It was only right that her son had inherited it. Her breath caught in her throat as people began flooding out of the building. It seemed like hours had passed instead of minutes by the time she spotted him, a smile working its way onto her face at the sight of him.

The pictures had eased some of the pain even as it hurt to look at them, but those could hardly be comparable to this feeling now, knowing that he was physically tangible and right in front of her and she couldn't get to him. Every part of her ached to cross the distance between them and take him into her arms, but Alan placed a grounding hand on her shoulder. She would only be putting him in more risk, exposing herself to the world by approaching him in public. If she had made it in time to the house, that would have been different, but this… this was a risk.

The smile began to fade seconds later when something became apparent. There were other people everywhere, the sea of teenagers laughing loudly among themselves and chatting as they moved leisurely toward their own vehicles… all but her son. He moved slowly with his head down and shoulders drawn, seeming to take care not to interact with anyone else. He was alone even when surrounded by a crowd of people.

"No," she whispered, recognizing the familiar solitude. She had been just the same way, always setting herself apart from everyone else, content to avoid social interactions because they all felt… wrong. She cried silently as she watched him climb into her old Jeep. She could feel it now as she concentrated, her senses reaching out to him as if to visit, and what little happiness she'd experienced at seeing him this last time dissipated with the knowledge that he was like her in more than just looks. He had it in him to be more than himself.

It scared her.

Alan obviously recognized it too. He watched thoughtfully as her son pulled out of the parking space and moved to join the line heading for the main road, but he maintained his silence on the matter. She knew it would not be long until he brought it up, but she needed to get out of here now. She would rather do this in the woods, where there was less of a chance at being found by and traumatizing some poor teenager… of traumatizing her own son even.

"It's time," she said, wiping her face and releasing a breath. She turned away from the school and into the woods that had been behind her, walking with more surety than she actually felt. She looked down at the nearly forgotten object still clutched in her hands as Alan joined her, the one thing she'd had enough mind to grab in her haste to get out of the house earlier. It had been so cold when she'd first taken it from the safe. The metal felt warm in her hands now though, but that was less than reassuring.

Alan glanced at her with grave eyes. "We can still try."

"… No."

"There is still—"

"No. You know as well as I do what has to happen now." Her voice wavered slightly, but she forced back the need to cry again. She had cried long enough already. She needed to be strong now. She had to be. "Marin with still need you, Meredith and Vincent too if you can find them. I saw them earlier, but…" She shook her head. "They're too far away. Find them."

"We will, Claudia," a new voice added, and suddenly they were not alone, Marin walking on her other side in a posh dress and heels. "We will find them. I promise you."

Claudia nodded gratefully, mouth trembling momentarily. "Thank you." She knew Marin would keep her promise. She always did. Marin would find their missing friend and their wayward charge, would help set them up with new identities and new homes, give them new lives away from all this madness, just as she tried to do for Claudia.

"You intend to go through with this," Marin observed, taking in the gun clutched tightly in her hands, her voice blessedly free of judgement. "There is no way to talk you out of it."

"I have been trying," Alan said. "She is being stubborn."

"… No," Marin shook her head. "She is being courageous."

Claudia felt something loosen in her chest. She knew Marin could have objected. She was probably the only one who could give a convincing argument to do so, but the other woman was aware of the dangers and understood. She knew what had to be done. They both did. They had put it off for too long already and there had been too many close calls. Claudia was only glad to have the chance to see her son again.

"I heard him earlier," she said quietly. "He is almost here." She had no need to elaborate any further. They all knew exactly who she was talking about. Instead they walked together silently, Alan to the left and Marin to the right, each moving deeper and deeper into the trees, and she took comfort in knowing that she had them at her side for this.

"Your son…" Alan said a few moments later. "You realize…"

Marin nodded. "Yes," she agreed. "He has the spark."

Claudia stiffened, her gait faltering briefly. "No," she said firmly, increasing her stride to an almost angry pace. "You imagined it."

"You felt it first." Alan reminded her quietly, and she whipped around to glare at him.

"No!"

"Yes," Marin contradicted, meeting her angry eyes calmly. "He has the potential. Given your biological connection as well as physical proximity, there is a more than likely possibility that the spark would ignite. He would most certainly be reborn just as we were."

The words hung in the air for a moment.

Claudia shook her head against what they were implying. "Do you know what you are asking of me?" she demanded brokenly. "I abandoned my family because of this. I have watched friends and loved ones _die_ because of this… and you want me to condemn my own flesh and blood to this? I refuse to do that to him or to _anyone_ … No. He can live a normal life, the life I should have had."

Marin and Alan glanced at each other.

"Can you honestly say that this life has been so bad?" Alan asked a small measure of hurt in his voice. "Does the bad outweigh the good?"

Claudia felt the anger dispel. She barely even had to consider the words to know what the answer was. These last few months had given her ample time to think about it all, to think about what direction her life would have gone without any of this. It had driven almost every decision since. She had torn her family apart to protect them from it, watched people be hurt and decimated because of it, and had endured more heartache and pain than anyone should ever have to endure… but she couldn't bring herself to regret a single moment of it.

Rebirth was not without its difficulties, though there was no denying that the moments in between had been worth all the hardship. Being reborn had given a certain purpose to her life beyond anything she could have ever imagined, given her everlasting friendship and bonds that she would forever cherish. Claudia had found belonging in the ragtag group of people that had become so intertwined in her life that they were essentially just another piece of herself. She loved them all dearly and could not imagine having ever lived without them.

"You already know the answer," Claudia said reluctantly.

"They are already being hunted, born or unborn," Alan said gently. "You were found out by chance, a routine medical examination. That is all it took. We might not be able to talk you from following through with this plan, but at least think about giving eight individuals a fighting chance. They will be vulnerable either way."

Marin nodded. "Let them have what we do."

"… You cannot ask me to do this," she whispered, but her resolve was already wavering at their urgings. She knew they were speaking the truth. Her own experiences had shown exactly how easy it was to be caught unawares and even without this connection they still possessed the potential. All it would take was one simple medical procedure, something that people had done every single day, and then they would be hunted.

Claudia turned back around and continued on, trying to find a way to dispute their argument even as her own mind rationalized it. They were right and it was futile to continue to deny it. She would be leaving several people completely helpless if she did nothing. She could give them a chance. It was just difficult to admit that it had to be done.

The three of them emerged in a large clearing soon after. It was as good of a place as any and Claudia moved toward the center, immediately collapsing down onto the stump of what had once been a large tree, legs unable to support her any longer. She was exhausted. Her body was already weak from weeks of malnourishment, living off little more than pain killers and even more so now from the physical exertion, but the emotional and mental toll of the past few months, the past few years even—it was all just too much.

"We have gone through hell and back just trying to survive," Claudia whispered, licking her cracked lips. "You realize you are asking me to condemn my own son to that."

Marin knelt down in front of her. She took her hand in reassurance. "If you're going through hell," she said heavily, trailing off and staring intently as she waited for the other woman to finish the thought.

"Keep going," she agreed, frowning as a thought occurred to her. "You will do it yourself if I refuse." It was not a question and Marin met her eyes unflinchingly. She would. It was the only way. They would be in danger either way and doing this, kindling that spark already inside of them, it would give them the opportunity to protect each other. "… Okay."

The pain came as soon as Claudia made the conscious decision to do it. She had never done this before, though she had witnessed others enact it. They treated it like a celebration, a ritual even, but it came suddenly and without warning the second she made the choice. It began as a burning pressure behind her eyes, but it grew rapidly stronger and spread as the moments passed by.

Claudia gnashed her teeth together against the pain. "It hurts," she gasped out, allowing Alan and Marin to guide her down onto her back. She reached out blindly, clutching for their hands, and then cried out weakly. There was a strong and painful tugging sensation, as if her very soul was trying to rip itself from her body, yet the sensation of the rough stump beneath her and the warmth of Marin and Alan beside her never faded, assuring her that she was still there with them in the woods.

They were speaking to her in soothing tones, but it all went unheard over the sudden roaring in her ears. Her body was motionless, lying there seized with an unbearable agony that rattled her bones and set fire to every nerve ending even as ice chilled her veins. The pressure continued to build, growing stronger in her head and in her chest until she was writhing and crying and wishing for it all to end. She screamed when it all became too much to bear.

Gone were the trees in that instant, fading away from her mind even as the bark scraped against her skin, because one moment Claudia had been staring up at the sky and the next she was everywhere all at once. She lifted herself up and stared ahead unseeingly, heedless of the other two, because she could see _them_. There were eight of them, a cluster of beautiful and strong individuals, and they were all connected in this one moment.

Claudia was on the porch of her home. She heard the door of the Jeep slam shut and the pain eased a fraction at the sight of her son walking up to the door. He faltered on the last step, realizing that he was no longer alone, and he stared up at her in disbelief and wonder. The keys fell from him hands, clattering down alongside his worn backpack, mouth hanging open a bit. She was glad to see him this close, able now to see the many freckles and beauty marks that adorned his skin, just like hers. He was beautiful.

"Mom?" he asked, voice sounding shattered at the sight of her.

Claudia smiled at him comforting just before her mind flashed away again. She could feel the connection between them, a strong line of invisible energy creating a bridge between their hearts, their minds, and their souls. Her son had many more now though, seven more to be exact, each one extending out of him and to different places in the world. She followed one to the driveway of a small home. She felt the heat of the sun on her skin as she observed a young man crouched down in front of an old dirt bike. He stiffened slightly, hand tightening on the wrench, and turned to look directly at her.

 _Scott_ , the name came to her unbidden. He had sort of shaggy black hair that fell into his dark brown eyes and curled a bit, and his jawline seemed to be a bit crooked, but there was gentleness to him that most boys his age lacked. He was loving and stubborn and he cared about people a little too much. She smiled at him, knowing already that her son would probably most connected to him. He scratched at his chin in surprise, leaving a small trail of oil along his sun kissed skin, and smiled back up at her hesitantly, as though unsure but unable to keep from smiling back.

Claudia was in a quaint little restaurant now. She could see people everywhere, but her eyes were instantly drawn to the young woman laughing brightly along with a couple of other teenagers until her head turned. They smiled at each other and Claudia notice the way it lit up her features and made the deep dimples even more prominent. _Allison_. Her hair was dark and wavy and she had a fair complexion with rosy cheeks, but there was a strength there as well, a determination that would eventually kindle into something fiercer. She could be a strong protector when the time came… or their greatest enemy.

Just as suddenly the restaurant faded away, leaving purple walls decorated with photographs and oddly enough a large chart of the periodic table. There were books laid out on the bed, a notebook filled out with equations in neat, curly handwriting, but there were also clothes laid out on nearly every surface available. She watched as a young woman with strawberry blond hair turned to throw another shirt down onto the pile and their eyes met. _Lydia._ She was fiercer than even she knew, but it would take time to prove that to herself. A scream echoed throughout the room just as the walls faded away.

There was a soft breeze on the wind as Claudia walked along the sandy beach, observing the people sunbathing and splashing in the water, but she approached the area designated for a game of volleyball. She caught the eye of a young man just as he broke away from the game to take a drink of water. _Jackson_. He was athletic, his features strong and expression proud, but she knew he would need them all the most. He was lost and alone and desperate to find belonging. He stared at her guardedly, mouth downturned into a suspicious frown, but she just smiled at him.

It was quiet in the small room, the wooden floors barely creaking even as the young woman moved swiftly, spinning around with a large staff in hand with practiced ease. _Kira._ She was going to be a great warrior one day, another protector to help them through all the trials that awaited them. She was a bit awkward in social environments, but the others would all definitely help instill the confidence she needed. The girl paused in her routine as their eyes met connected briefly, hers unexpectedly flashing with a visible inner fire.

Claudia was standing beside a gift kiosk in an airport then. She looked sadly upon the young man with curly hair that tugged restlessly at the soft woolen scarf around his neck, trying to ensure that the thick rings of faded purplish green bruises were covered. _Isaac._ Her heart ached for him, because he had been hurt for so long. He would need the others for comfort, but he was resilient after taking care of himself for so long. He would recover eventually. She smiled kindly when he turned to look at her, but he ducked away shyly just as quickly.

The sweltering heat of the jungle was offset by the soft patter of rain as the gray sky opened up. People cheered all around Claudia, gathering in a circle beneath the canopy of the tropical trees, and she watched as a young woman was thrown to the damp ground by a man with glowing red eyes. _Cora_. She had been alone for so long that she had forgotten what it was like not to have to take care of herself. She had lost so much already and even now everything seemed against her. She barely recalled what trust was.

Claudia reached down and the girl looked up, her snarl faltering as the unexpected golden glow faded from her own eyes. She accepted the offered hand with confusion and Claudia pulled her back onto her feet before the man could kick her. Cora immediately whipped around and tried to fight back once more and all at once Claudia was back in the woods with Alan and Marin, even as her mind stretched across the globe. Her body slackened back against the stump as the pain faded entirely. It had dissipated little by little until they were all connected and now she just felt tired.

"You did it," Marin told her softly, pride in her voice.

Claudia smiled widely, feeling a strange sort of peace now even with how weak the experience had rendered her. "Yes," she whispered to them, her own voice hoarse from screaming. "You were right. He was the first to be reborn."

"Your son will never be alone now," Alan said. "We will watch over him. We will watch over all of your children."

The words were as oddly warming as they were strange. Others had claimed a cluster as their children before, but she never realized just how true it was. Claudia had seven new children that were as close to her heart as her own biological son. She knew their hopes and dreams, their doubts and fears, their greatest strengths and utmost weaknesses, and she loved each and every one of them. It was a powerful sensation and Claudia knew they would protect one another to the best of their abilities.

"Thank you," she said, squeezing both of their hands gratefully.

Marin suddenly looked over her shoulder. "They're here."

Claudia looked as well and noticed movement in the trees. She swallowed down the last of her reservations and looked around, finding the gun lying there beside her. She picked it up carefully. "You should both leave," she said shakily. "You shouldn't have to see this."

"Are you sure?" Alan asked.

Marin nodded. "We can stay."

As much as Claudia wanted them here, neither of them had ever been present as one in their own cluster had died. She had and she would never wish that on either of them. "I can't do this if you're here," she said, glad when neither called her out on the lie.

"Goodbye, Claudia," he said remorsefully.

"Farewell, sister," Marin added. "… Until we meet again."

"Protect them," she requested, breathing out a sigh as their arms came around her. She closed her eyes for just a moment, enjoying the comfort they were offering her, but they were both gone when she looked again. She gripped the gun tighter.

It was time.

"I love you all so much," Claudia whispered, openly speaking to them all as she began to raise the gun. She froze as a calloused hand landed on her arm to stop her and suddenly found herself looking up into piercing blue eyes. She stared at the newcomer, both startled and uneasy, because this was the one who had always kept himself apart. He had never considered himself one of them, ignoring their presence and refuting them. She had never expected to see him again, not after their last encounter.

"Please," the man said heavily, looking down to the gun briefly before lifting his head and turning away as if the sight hurt to look at. His jaw clenched. "You can't."

Claudia swallowed slightly, heart pounding in her chest. "I have to."

"No." He shook his head adamantly. "I can protect you. I can help, just give me the chance. We're almost here, just let us take you and I can—"

"Use me to lead you to the others?" she interrupted, and it came out more accusing than she intended it to, but Claudia refused to rephrase it. He drew away, hurt flashing across his features, and she swallowed down the twinge of guilt that welled in her chest. He brought it upon himself. He was the one who was ashamed of them, who had _betrayed_ them, and she had nothing to be guilty about.

"… I'm sorry," he said quietly, the sincerity of the words ringing true. She could feel the truth of it as well, his own culpability prominent and present in his eyes. "It was my fault. This is my fault, the others… and now you. You're doing this because of what I did."

Claudia pressed her lips together. Her silence was answer enough. His inability to accept them had resulted in not only the death of one of their one, but the near annihilation of an entire family and several more deaths to follow. She understood his reasoning and his beliefs, but that could hardly make up for the fact that he was responsible for what had happened. She despised his part in it all. She wished she could despise him.

"It was an accident," she told him, unable to force herself to be angry any longer. She was too tired to pretend to hate him. "I know you never meant for this to happen. I know the fire and the surgery and everything else was out of your hands. You still led them straight to me and Julia though. You're the reason I watched her die." Her voice caught. "I'm not sure I could ever forgive you for that."

"I know. I would never ask you to." He was silent for a moment. "We're here."

Claudia stiffened as a hand brushed along her back, the wrongness of the touch surging through her body. "So is _he,_ " she said quietly. He was here, the man who had single-handedly ruined so many lives in his own selfish pursuit was directly behind her, and it would not be long until he was standing in front of her too. She refused to turn around and look at him though. She would never give him the satisfaction of knowing just how terrified she was of him.

"Hello Claudia," the voice drawled tauntingly, a hand resting against her shoulder now. "Just how have you been hiding from me?"

"Fight him."

Claudia shook her head, pressing her lips together. "I can't."

"… Does he know?"

It took Claudia a moment to process the hesitant question. Her breath caught. Everyone nearby must have felt the surge. He knew. He had to know. The vile man was the one to reply first, as if following the conversation, drawling the words out provokingly.

"You've given birth," he said. "It must have been painful."

Claudia took in a shuddering breath, trying to ignore the gibe, focusing instead on the man before her. "Yes," she nodded slowly, and she saw him clench his jaw again.

"I can see you," he said, grim and urgent. "You have to do this soon if you're still going through with it. Ignore him. Focus on me."

"You should leave," she suggested, but he merely took a seat beside her. He took her hand and she felt another tear fall in spite of her efforts. "Please leave."

"No, Claudia," he told her. "I have left you all alone for too long already. I'm going to witness this either way. I would rather be with you when it happens."

It was selfish but Claudia was glad for his presence. She might have sent Marin and Alan away, but they had never been as strong as him. He had been there as Julia died as well. He could get through this. She leaned her head down against his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body soak into hers. She looked ahead and could see him walking toward her as well, standing tall and face impassive, blue eyes locked on hers. There were others with him, but they hardly mattered now.

"Is that Alan?" the man behind her asked, sounding interested, but thankfully ignorant of the identity of her companion. "Or perhaps it is one of the others, Marin or Vincent perhaps? Tell them that I look forward to meeting them."

Claudia closed her eyes and lifted the gun.

"Oh, come now my dear," he said chidingly. "How many times have you made this threat? We both know that you will never do it. We have so much more work to do. We still have to find the others. You are one of us after all."

"I'm not like you," she said firmly, addressing him for the first time. She glanced up at the approaching group, staring at the man leading the charge. He moved much more swiftly than his age should allow. She could see her companion just behind him and focused on him instead, drawing strength from him. She had to do this now.

"Yes you are," the old man scoffed, tugging on her hair. "You are just like me. You will be coming home tonight too. With me."

"No."

"Give me the gun," the man in front of her demanded, even as the one behind her whispered, "Put the gun down." He was in two places at once, essentially ordering the same thing, but that only made her twice as determined. She glared at him defiantly.

"No," Claudia repeated, rising the gun the rest of the way and opening her mouth. She breathed in the smell of the gun oil, tasting on her tongue as she closed her lips around the metal, and closed her eyes for the last time. This was it. She could hear shouting, feel horror and grief assault her from all over the world in the split second it took to pull the trigger.

"Stop her!"

The gunshot rang through the clearing.


	2. Another Hallucination

Not Alone

It was cold outside with the recent sprinkle of rain, a small slushy flurry turning the ground into a muddy mess outside while the wind stirred the trees in a restless fashion, causing the bare branches to scratch across the wooden slats and window panes of the house. Nighttime had covered the vacant streets of the small town rapidly. The colors of sunset gave way to a sheer expanse of darkness, but the moon provided a bright ray of light, sending silver slivers through the slanted blinds and shining down on the single occupant in the room.

The young man had always been known for having a nervous energy. He was constantly in motion, even when he was still; even in unconsciousness, the young man was restless. He could twist himself into the most uncomfortable positions throughout the night and never once wake up. This was different though. This was a far from the usual deep slumber from just the previous night, something unsettling about the earlier events of the day preventing him from achieving any sort of peace.

It had taken hours just to achieve this unrestful state. He'd lied awake for what seemed like an eternity, just watching the neon glow from the digital clock on the nightstand, watching the numbers as they ticked by at an agonizing pace. The severe throbbing situated directly behind his eyes, refusing to ease up even with copious amounts of pain reliever, hadn't made it any easier to rest. He tried sleeping it off, but his eyes refused to stay shut because for some inexplicable reason he was hyperaware of everything.

He heard every creaking noise of this old house as the wind blew gently outside. He heard the way the branches screeched across the glass of the windows. He heard the distant clattering of ice falling to the tray in the freezer from all the way downstairs in the kitchen. The constant, quiet _tick, tock, tick, tock_ from the old grandfather clock in the foyer was as clear as if it were upstairs in the bedroom. He heard it all as if it were right next to him. He thought it was because of the headache, maybe the pain intensifying it all, but he wasn't sure.

By the time the heaviness became too much to bear, the clock had unsympathetically proclaimed that it was well passed four in the morning and there was absolutely zero chance of sleeping peacefully. Oblivion came anyway though, swiftly and without warning. Falling asleep proved to be worse than the sleep deprivation, however, because he was suddenly a bystander in a nightmarish vision playing out in his mind like a fresh memory and walking through the unfamiliar place slowly.

It was strange. It felt less like a dream and more like something real.

The way the moist earth clung to his bare feet was reminiscent of the way it had done so when he emptied the trash after dinner, carry the bag through the slushy cold mud from the light drizzle just before nightfall. He could feel the breeze waft against him, causing gooseflesh to rise along his arms and his legs, cutting through the soft worn flannel pants and simple shirt. It was as real as anything, realistic and tangible in the most alarming way, but oddly that was not what worried him most.

Even though the bedroom felt too hot from both the heater kicking in and being trapped in the tangled mess the bedding had become, it was like he was in two places at once. He could feel the mattress beneath him, creaking as his head twitched back and forth; at the same time he was walking through the woods, feeling a twinge of pain from a sharp twig. He could feel each simultaneously, though try as he might, there was no waking from this dream. He was trapped in his own head, a nagging feeling as though he were about to wake up, but unable to force himself to open his eyes.

He was paralyzed even as he moved through the dense multitude of trees.

It was minutes later, perhaps even hours, before he paused in the mindless wondering. He turned slowly, observing the trees curiously, head tilted in consideration. There was something familiar about this place. He was certain he had never been here before, but even so he felt as though he recognized it. He thought hard on it, trying to figure out where he was. _The preserve_ , he thought, frowning to himself.

The Beacon Hills Preserve was the only place nearby that had these tall, towering trees that loomed as high as some of the highest buildings in town. There were running trails through the preserve, though the majority of it was considered private property, trespassers warned away from entering. Not those warnings ever stopped a curious mind. He had ventured in only briefly once in a while, usually when the occasional hiker went missing, but not often and this was unlike any part of the woods he had ever seen himself.

A soft rustling broke through the quiet musings, alerting the young man to someone nearby and he turned to his left, catching sight of a flash of white fabric moving through the shadows. He hesitated for only a moment before deciding to follow, an anxious knot making his chest feel tight for some unknown reason. He felt strangely apprehensive. He paused just behind a tree after a few strides, realizing the stranger was a woman; her body movements were spasmodic, limbs twitching and feet stumbling even when the ground was flat.

 _Either intoxicated_ , the young man mused. _Or stoned out of her mind._

In that instant the woman tumbled unexpectedly over an uplifted root. He took a half step forward, wincing at the heavy thud as her body impacted hard with the unforgiving ground, but something held him back. He watched instead as she laughed suddenly, just a small huff of laughter as if amused with her own predicament, but it quickly dissolved into a quiet moan of despair. He bit his lip, silently debating on revealing himself, and finally made the decision to move forward.

"Hey," he called out, hoping not to startle her too badly. "Are you alright?"

Everything went alarmingly quiet in a single instance.

He swallowed uneasily and looked around. He could have sworn it had been light out just moments ago, but now the sky was a velvety dark purple and blue, alit with shining dots of light and the moon hanging high above the trees. The sound of the branches above no longer rattling together as the soft breeze had dissipated, the constant mild buzz of nature silenced, all of it replaced instead with an utter stillness. There was a firefly nearby, wings motionless even as it hovered in midair. The world had been put on pause.

 _Just a dream_ , he reminded himself. _It's just a dream. A freakishly realistic dream, but a dream nonetheless._ He licked his lips and turned his attention back in front of him. The woman was still there, motionless as if whatever had the world static had immobilized her too. He made another step toward her and that was when she seemed to come back alive. She stood slowly, almost leisurely even and with a grace that belied her previous uncoordinated efforts.

The woman gazed over her shoulder.

Heart shuddering to a halt at the achingly familiar features, the young man felt light headed and in a desperate need for air, because his lungs seemed to close up the moment their eyes clashed together. He knew those eyes, so similar to his own. He knew that face, heart shaped and soft, with bowed lips and dotted with an array of beauty marks. It was impossible, but he knew this woman. Even if this was just some unexplainably realistic dream his messed up mind had conjured as a cruel joke after his hallucination earlier, it felt real and that would have to be enough.

"Mom?" he whispered cautiously, desperation and longing in his voice. He took another tentative step toward her, feeling frantic when it incited her to turn around and run. "No! Wait!" He followed her clumsily through the maze of trees, feeling off kilter and confused; he was so focused on her that he wasn't even aware that his arms were extending wildly in reality, fingers catching the blue fabric of the sheets in a tight grip. Barely audible protests escaped his lips, fading into the quietness of the room.

Broken twigs and weather sharpened rocks dug into the tender skin of his feet. He was heedless of the pain, no longer concerned that the rational part of his mind had questioned why he would feel pain in a dream, because she was just _there_. She was just within reach and, most importantly of all, she was alive. He felt lightheaded when he lost sight of her, chest heaving with effort from the chase; he called out for her again, unsure why his mother would run from him. He pushed himself to run faster, catching hold of trees to swing around to avoid crashing into the next, palms stinging as the bark scratched at him.

Eventually the trees began to thin and the young man stumbled to a halt as the forest disappeared entirely and the world radiated white. He shielded his eyes with one hand and blinked against the sudden brightness. He found his mother once his eyes adjusted, standing just ahead in before the great remnants of an old tree, just staring down at the surface. He approached hesitantly, wary of spooking her into running again, but this time she remained unmoving. He came to stand beside her, staring at the side of her face, half hidden by long dark hair that was tangled and lank. He reached out to touch her, breath catching when he felt the warmth of her skin.

 _She's real_ , he thought unsteadily. _She's here._

"Mom," he croaked out again, the name coming out as a mere whisper. He wrapped his arms around her, unable to hold back any longer as emotions threatened to overcome him. She continued to stare forward even as he buried his face against the side of her head. He breathed in the unpleasant odor of rotten earth and much that seemed to cling to her without complaint. He felt the mud from her earlier tumble soak into his clothes from her dirty and torn attire too, but none of it mattered, not that or the fact that her eyes seemed swollen and her face was blotchy, because it had been six long years without her.

All that mattered was that she was alive. She might have been dirty and unsightly, but she was still gorgeous because she was his mother and he had missed her so much. He blinked away the tears and savored having her in his arms, warm and breathing, and he never wanted to let her go again. He would have to eventually, he knew that, but for now he could have this. If this was a dream, he never wanted to wake from it. Not if it meant letting her go and waking up to a reality where she didn't exist anymore.

Nothing happened for a long moment and that was when it became apparent that there was something very wrong. He tightened his grip slightly, the little bit of happiness that he'd allowed himself to feel starting to disperse, because she had yet to acknowledge him. She was still just standing there, not quite stiff but seemingly unaware of his presence at all. He drew back uncertainly and wiped his eyes to clear his vision. She continued to stare and he followed her gaze down onto the flat surface of the stump, noticing for the first time how the inner rings were stained dark with an almost rusty color.

The sight made his heart pound harder for reasons he didn't understand. He stared down at it, suddenly compelled to touch the soiled tree, and he did so without thought, reaching down with a shaking hand. His fingertips encountered something wet. He drew in a sharp breath and pulled his hand back, eyes catching on the scarlet that now painted the digits, denial stuck in his throat when he realized it was fresh blood. He forced himself to look away, focusing instead on his mother, who took a sudden step forward.

"… Mom?" he asked, feeling a sense of urgency. "I don't like this place. Can we leave?"

Instead of answering or giving any indication that the appeal was heard, his mother moved to sit down on the stump, just in front of the tainted rings. Her head tilted up and her golden brown eyes bore directly into his one. She smiled a watery smile, eyes lighting up in recognition finally. Her expression changed quickly though, the smile turning into a thin line as she stared up at him imploringly.

"Protect them."

The request made no sense. He had no idea who she wanted him to protect. He frowned at her, mouth opening to explain that he didn't understand what she wanted. He only noticed the gun once the smooth barrel had already been lifted and fitted into her open mouth. He cried out urgently, but it was too late. He saw her finger pull the trigger. There was a flash of gunpowder igniting between her lips and a deafening sound rang out through the clearing, drowning out his frantic protests.

Horror gripped him as the force of the bullet propelled her back in one abrupt burst. He could hear screaming and the conscious part of his mind recognized that the broken sound was being torn from his own throat. He could only focus on the way the blood began pooling around her body though, vision clouded with heavy tears, weeping as his body was wracked with tremors. He wanted to kneel beside her. He wanted to touch her again. He wanted her alive and in his arms, but his entire body was paralyzed and she was dead.

A loud noise cut through the screaming, the door swinging open and crashing into the wall, and suddenly the bleached surroundings faded back into the light blue of his bedroom. He was in his own bed, throat burning and whole body thrashing, because the dream was gone. She was gone. He shook with denial. His mother had killed herself. She had done it right in front of him. He had only just gotten her back too and he knew how impossible it was, but he could feel it was true. Somehow it was true, but that was not comforting in the least because a single bullet just destroyed everything.

Arms were suddenly there, coming around from behind as a worried voice called out in alarm. "Stiles!" Someone was there, pulling him back against a strong chest, worried breaths coming out in puffs against the side of his head soft. He could hear a distant murmuring that grew clearer as his head cleared, nonsense words accompanied by gentle shushing slowly penetrating the horror and anguish. "Hey, hey, hey, shh…"

It was then that Stiles realized he was still screaming and that the person holding him was his father. He reached out, clutching at the arm around his chest, clutching it close as if the man might disappear too if he let go. He clenched his watery eyes shut, the tears following a hot path down his cheeks and pooling around his mouth. He licked them away almost reflexively and choked on the salty taste on it tongue.

"It's okay." His father whispered reassuringly. "It's okay. It was just a dream. You're alright. You're safe. Just breathe. Stiles? Breathe with me. Okay, kiddo? Breathe."

Following the command, Stiles drew in a ragged breath and sank into the warmth behind him. His mother had been warm too. She had been warm when he held her. His taut body grew lax minutely, screams falling silent entirely in favor of silent weeping, and he opened his eyes and stared ahead blankly. He tried to just concentrate on breathing. In and out… in and out… in and… and there was a gun on the bed beside him. He noticed it belatedly, apprehension sending a pang of terror down his spine. He shook harder, tearing his eyes away from the gun, burrowing closer to his father.

Stiles stiffened abruptly when the something red smeared against the bare forearm locked around his chest. He yanked himself away violently, tearing away and crashing to the floor, eyes clenched shut as a plea escaped his lips. He was terrified to look up. His father had blood on him and he was terrified to look up and see where that blood came from. He knew the gun was not the same one, but that it was the sidearm that his father always carried for work.

Had Stiles been thinking rationally, he would have assumed that his father had instinctually grabbed for the weapon upon first hearing the screams. He would have been correct too, because he knew how his father thought. His first instinct upon hearing Stiles scream was that there was some kind of threat nearby and going for sidearm was only natural. But everything was still too fresh in his mind. He could still hear the noise of the gunshot ringing in his ears, he could still smell rotting earth and mud, and he could still feel the blood on his hands.

Stiles pried his eyes opened and choked back a cry, because the feel of the blood was not just residual like everything else. His hands were stained with it, the scarlet still slick for the most part, darker around the edges where it was drier and cracked. He shook his head and rubbed at his hands frantically. His hands were stained with _her_ blood. He needed to get it off. He rose to his feet unsteadily and scrambled out of the open door. He made it to the bathroom and turned the water on, swirls of red fading to muted pink as they circled the drain of the sink, and his stomach clenched at the sight.

"Stiles?"

Head lifting slowly, Stiles drug his eyes up to look in the mirror out of reflex. His own reflection was what he saw first. His skin was too pale, making the dark bruises beneath his eyes all the more noticeable, eyelashes clumped together around his bloodshot eyes. His cheeks were shiny with fresh tears and his mouth was trembling. His whole body was shivering, though he felt as if his skin was too hot, so he wasn't sure why. He noticed his father next, hovering just outside the bathroom, looking unsure but intact.

There was no bullet wound or even blood, save for the smear on his forearm.

Stiles looked back down at his hands and realized the blood must have come from him. It was a cold comfort. He let the water run even as the man ventured in hesitantly, watching as the blood washed away until all that was left were small abrasions on his palms. He studied them intently and some of the panic loosened in his chest when he realized that the blood actually belonged to him. He must have scratched himself in his sleep, some of the blood still crusted under his unkempt fingernails.

It was his… not hers.

"Is that blood?" His father hissed suddenly, coming around and reaching for his hands. He pulled them close and studied them with a concerned frown. "Christ, kid, these are deep. I… wait here. I'll get the antiseptic."

"It's fine," Stiles protested weakly. "I just scratched myself."

"You and I have very different definitions of being fine," the man griped, the words coming out harsher with his worry. He stared at him hard for a moment. "Are you alright?"

Stiles honestly had no idea how to answer that question. He toiled with the words for a moment, churning them over in his head, but could come up with no response. He felt numb for the most part. He felt torn apart and haphazardly put back together. He felt bruised and broken and the scariest thing about it all was that there was a part of him that wanted to go back into his room and retrieve the gun. He looked up at his father and knew he could never tell him that without hurting him though, so he pulled his hands away and turned back to the sink instead.

Bracing himself against the porcelain basin, Stiles stared at his reflection for a second before thrusting his hands beneath the stream of water and bringing it to his face. "Yeah," he said, hoping his voice sounded stronger than he thought it did. "Just… just give me a minute."

"… Are you sure?" His father asked, backing away but staying just outside.

 _No,_ Stiles thought, even as he nodded. He shut the door once the man backed away and locked it behind him. He rested back against it and exhaled slowly. He caught sight of his eyes in the mirror, golden brown with hints of amber, and barely managed to make it to the toilet as bile and acid worked its way up his throat. His eyes watered again, this time as the burn scorched his already aching throat, the acrid smell of the aftermath causing him to dry heave a few more times before he remembered to flush it away.

Stiles leaned his sweaty forehead against the toilet seat when he was done and wiped at the corner of his mouth, collapsing back against the side of the bathtub. He drew his knees against his chest and draped his arm over them. He stared at the wall and tried to ignore the constant throbbing behind his eyes. He stayed there until the sound of his clock signaled it was time to get up and get ready for school. He had enough mind to swish with some mouth wash first before exiting the bathroom to stop the alarm.

Strangely enough, however, the glowing neon digits showed it was only five o'clock, still an hour until it was meant to go off. He frowned at it for a moment, not certain why it was going off early, but decided that a malfunctioning alarm clock was pretty low on his list of priorities right now. He pressed the button once, twice, then three times, and was confused when the sound refused to cease. He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose, head pounding in tandem with the damn alarm, and finally got down on his knees to rip the plug out of the wall.

Stiles drew back and stared at the dim screen of the clock. He squeezed the useless cord in his hand, wondering what the hell was going on, because unplugging the clock had been as effectual as hitting the off button had been. He could still hear it going off, a constant high pitched _beep, beep, beep, beep_ that grated on his every last nerve and never failed to wake him up in the mornings.

It had no power… but it was still beeping.

Stiles dropped the cord and all at once the room was blessedly quiet. His heart fluttered as confusion prickled at his mind. He looked at the clock uncertainly one last time before picking himself up off the floor and heading toward the closet. He had been imagining it. It had been another hallucination, just like seeing... seeing his mother on the front porch yesterday. That was just wishful thinking coupled with an overactive imagination. It was nothing. He refused to even think about the dream… nightmare… whatever.

It was nothing. None of it meant anything.

Stiles was nothing if not a master at ignoring things until they went away. It was pretty much the story of his whole existence. This was no different than the cruel taunting of the diabolical chemistry teacher or the posh morons at school who proclaimed themselves superior by pushing around anyone smarter than them. He had ignored them all since he was ten. He could ignore this too.

He pushed it all to the back of his mind and rolled to his feet. He had to get ready for school and he wanted a shower first.

…oOo…

The incessant and high pitched cry of the alarm cut through the strange dreams. The world came into bleary focus as Scott blinked slowly. He groaned tiredly and reached out with one hand to hit snooze, staring groggily at the glowing red numbers that showed it was only five minutes until six o'clock. He groaned again and flopped over, pulling his pillow over his head to drown out the bright light that was already creeping in through the makeshift sheet pinned over the window.

Scott had been having trouble sleeping in the new house these last few months, but for some reason last night had been the worst. He attributed most of it to the brutal throbbing in his head which stillhadn't gone away. The last time Scott had felt a headache like this was a two years ago when there had been nothing to eat or drink in the house and he'd ended up passing out from dehydration. He drank plenty this time though, but apparently this was caused by something else.

The alarm went off again too soon, but Scott forced himself to get up. He stumbled over one of the unpacked boxes on the floor and almost ran into the wall though eventually managed to make it to the bathroom. He fleetingly considered doing his usual morning workout routine, but at the moment the pull up bar hanging in the doorway looked foreboding and he conceded that he was simply not in the mood today. He figured he could always reconsider later, but he would rather take it easy for now until the headache went away. He instead went through the motions of a brief shower and brushing his teeth before throwing on some jeans and shirt.

Once done Scott grabbed the abandoned backpack on the floor and ventured out of his small room. He grimaced when he realized that there was someone already seated at the table in the kitchen. The man looked away from the papers in front of him when the bag dropped to the floor next to the other chair. He gave the bag a reproachful look, but thankfully withheld comment on it.

Scott was all too pleased to ignore him in favor of grabbing a bowl and a box of cereal out of the cabinets. He sighed to himself, however, when he opened the refrigerator. _Figures…_ he thought, allowing the refrigerator door to close as he made to put the bowl and the cereal away. He moved instead to retrieve a mug and some coffee, pouring a healthy amount of sugar into it and moved to sit down.

It was two seconds later that the man released a huff and zeroed in on him. "Every damn morning, Scott," he said suddenly, his voice harsh and heavy with exasperation. "Yesterday you complained about there not being any cereal. Today you simply refuse to eat it. What? Is it the wrong kind of cereal? You used to beg for that kind when you were little."

Scott tightened his grip on the mug, trying not to wince at the accusing words. "The cereal is fine," he muttered, mouth opening again to explain when the man surged to his feet.

"Then what the hell is wrong with you?" he shouted, and Scott flinched away, looking up with wide eyes. "Nothing I do is enough, is it? You needed new clothes, so I bought you an entire wardrobe, and you still wear those damn rags!" He gestured wildly to the worn shirt Scott was wearing. "You were in that cramped room at the old house, so I moved us here and you still haven't even unpacked even though we've been here for months! What will it take for you to stop acting like a spoiled brat who won't get his way?"

By the end of the unexpected tirade, the man was breathing heavily and looking down his nose with disappointed dark brown eyes. Scott was wheezing slightly though, shaken because that was the first outburst that happened during the day. Rafael had gone on such rants late in the night after a hard case, usually after consuming a beer or two to wind down, but those were ones Scott could lock himself in his room and ignore.

This was right in his face and the man was completely sober.

"Milk," Scott choked out, sinking into the chair. "You forgot to buy milk."

Realization flashed in those dark eyes, followed quickly by shame, and the man made an abortive move to reach out. "… I'll pick some up tonight," he said quietly, gathering up the papers spread out on the table. It was not an apology, though it was as close as it was going to get. "I have to go up to Los Alamos today. I should be home late, so make sure you lock the doors before you go to bed."

Scott nodded slowly, watching as the papers were pushed into a briefcase. "Two percent," he said, pursing his lips when the man turned around. He elaborated, not quite an olive branch, but really, after that non-apology it was all he had to offer. "The milk? Mom always buys two percent milk. I can't stand anything else."

Rafael blinked, eyes tightening momentarily, but he nodded in acknowledgement. "Have your inhaler?" he asked, pulling on the jacket of his suit, and Scott just tapped his pocket in answer. "Did you already use that machine? You sound like you're having trouble breathing."

"I usually do it after breakfast," Scott replied, already quite aware of the slightly breathlessness to his words. He pulled the nearly forgotten mug to his mouth and took a large swallow. He drained the rest of it a second later, already feeling his airway ease a bit from the caffeine… or perhaps from the knowledge that the man had to leave for work soon.

Rafael grabbed his keys and made his way to the door. "Have a good day at school," he said awkwardly, sighing when the only response was a vague wave. He shook his head and made his way out the door, shutting it firmly and locking the deadbolt behind him.

Scott waited until the car was pulling out of the driveway before reaching into his pocket and pulling his phone out. He absently typed in his password and pressed the first number on his speed dial, cradling the phone between his shoulder and his ear as it began to ring, while he grabbed the loaf of bread off of the counter. He popped two slices of toast into the toaster oven and began retrieving the butter and jam from the refrigerator.

The ringing cut off abruptly, a soft, tired voice coming through the line. " _Good morning, my beautiful boy,_ " His mother greeted with genuine brightness, even in spite of the fact that she had just come off a twelve hour night shift. " _Did you sleep well?_ "

Scott smiled wanly and fibbed, because his mother had enough on her plate without having to worry about his uneasy sleep. "Fine," he said. "How was work?"

" _Scott McCall,_ " she said sternly. " _If you think I can't recognize that tone of voice after raising you for sixteen years, you've got another thing coming. What was it? Nightmares? Keep in mind that I will get on the next plane to Albuquerque and tan your hide if you lie._ "

Scott tried to fight it, but a genuine smile lit his face. "Please do," he said, hesitating only a second before adding, "I miss you."

"… _I miss you too, Scott,_ " she replied gently. " _But don't think you're getting out of answering the question. Was it nightmares or were there more gunshots outside of the house?_ "

The question brought a sudden image to mind. Scott blinked away the sight of the woman with dark hair, trying to shake off the unease that gripped him with the memory. He could recall that woman just outside yesterday, smiling down in a way that had reminded him of his own mother, which had prompted a smile from him as well; sometime during the night that image had been replaced with a vision of the woman shooting herself and he'd been helpless to stop it. His silence on the matter made his mother sigh.

" _I told Rafe that this neighborhood was no safer than the one in the valley,_ " she said in frustration. " _Downtown is just as bad if not worse. He would have been better off moving to into that place on the Westside where your aunt Sofia lives._ "

Scott was still too tired and a bit too confused to bother trying to explain the messed up dream, so he didn't bother to correct her assumption. He instead scoffed at her words. "I'm pretty sure the fact that it was so close to Sofie is why he chose this place instead."

" _I know_ ," she agreed, pausing for a moment. " _I'm sorry you are caught between us, baby. I know how hard this has been on you._ _It is only temporary though. His time is almost up and then you can come live with me here. I think you'll like the new house. I already got your bedroom all set up with your things._ "

Scott pulled his toast out and got to work slathering it with butter. He knew better to remind her that his time with her was only temporary as well, at least until he was eighteen and could choose to live where he wanted to. It would only just bring them both down. "You sent pictures already," he said. "Are you still planning to paint the walls?"

" _Nah, I figured we could do that together._ "

"Cool," he said, adding a large dollop of strawberry jam atop the buttery mess. "Do you still like the town? Is it everything your doctor friend said it would be?"

" _Utterly boring with a two percent crime rating?_ " she countered sardonically. " _Why yes, yes it is. It's a nice change though. No gangs. No shootings. The only things that come through the emergency room doors are people with colds or hypochondriacs who watch too much daytime television. Do you know how long it's been since I've had to sew up a gunshot or stabbing victim?_ "

"Since you moved to Beacon Hills?" Scott grumbled, taking a large bite of his toast. He felt a glob of strawberry try to escape and quickly licked his fingers. "Not that I'm complaining that you moved!" He added hastily. "I totally support that decision."

" _You're allowed to be mad that I moved away, Scott,_ " she told him wryly. " _To be honest, I was kind of mad at myself for a while, but I think you'll like it here. The people are friendly for the most part and the town has a few fun things. I found a bowling alley the other day too, which the two of us are so totally going to do when you get here._

"Bowing?" Scott chewed dubiously.

" _Scott, don't speak with your mouth full._ "

"Sowwy…?"

A laugh came through the line. " _Uh huh, sure you are. So… you and me, awful smelly shoes, poorly carbonated beverages, cheap hot dogs on stale buns, and a bowling ball in four months. What do you say?_ "

"Sounds perfect," Scott replied honestly.

" _Good,_ " she said, and he could hear the smile in her voice. " _Now, are you ready for school? Homework done? Inhaler in your pocket and backup in your bag? Did you remember to do your nebulizer this morning? And what were you eating? It better be more than toast and strawberry jam today._ "

Scott grimaced. "… Rafael forgot to buy milk."

"… _You still have that emergency credit card I gave you, right?_ " she asked seriously, and Scott knew just how pissed she was from the fact that she hadn't corrected him on addressing his father by his given name. She probably wouldn't have been angry about it if not for the fact that it was the third day in a row eating toast because there was nothing else in the house. " _Buy something on the way to school. Preferably something healthy, but just make sure you get some real food._ "

"I will," he promised.

" _What about the rest?_ "

"Homework is in my backpack," Scott answered fondly. "Inhalers are right where they should be and I plan to use the nebulizer as soon as we get off the phone."

" _It should be… what?_ " she asked. " _Almost… six twenty there, right?_ "

"An hour ahead," he reminded her. He finished up with the toast and began putting everything away. "I usually leave about ten till, so there's still some time. You should probably get some rest though. Don't you have the night shift again tonight?"

" _Mmm hmm…_ " She yawned suddenly, though she tried to talk around it. " _I'll call you before you go to bed. Have a good day at school._ " It was the same exact words Rafael used. They sounded much more welcome and less generic coming from his mother though. " _I love you._ "

"I love you too," Scott said, smiling sadly. "Sweet dreams."

They ended the call soon after and Scott washed the stickiness still on his hands off and then sat down on the sofa where the nebulizer was set up on the side table. It was a smaller machine than the one Scott used to have, a bit more portable too though it was still a bit bulky so this was the only place it was accessible and out of the way. He retrieved a fresh tube from the drawer and quickly attached one end to the compressor and the other to the medication cup. All that was left was pouring some medication into the cup and attaching the mouth piece.

Scott turned the machine on and clamped his lips over the plastic as the mist began to stream out from it. He inhaled deeply and evenly, making sure to breathe through his mouth instead of his nose to ensure the medication would get into his lungs. He made himself comfortable in the chair and reached for the remote with his free hand, flipping through a few channels randomly and waiting for the treatment to be over.

It never took long, usually just shy of fifteen minutes, but it was kind of boring to wait it out. He finally settled on some kind of cartoon relaxed. A while later he frowned because the buoyant cartoon noises were slowly being drowned out by some kind of orchestra. He could still see the little mouse on the screen, looking frightened as it ran around a corner only to pause with a devious smile. The music was completely off, slow and soft, no sharp snaps and yowls as the cat wobbled on the mouse traps it had stepped on.

Oddly it was like the soundtrack for the old movies his mother liked to watch had been dubbed over the cartoon. He wondered if someone with the cable company or with the network had made some kind of mistake. Either way Scott aimed the remote, about to change the channel, when a man began to sing. He blinked as foreign words washed over him while violins and the piano played along in the background. He honestly couldn't understand a word of it, his thumb still resting on the button to change the channel, but something held him back.

" _La mer…_ " the voice crooned jauntily through the television. " _Qu'on voit danser… le long… de golfes clairs… A des reflets d'argent… La mer! Des reflets changeants… sous la pluie… La mer… Au ciel d'été confond… ses blans mouton… avec les anges si purs. La Mer!_ "

Scott winced as the song was interrupted by the cackling of the cat on the television as the mouse was chased around by a woman with a broomstick. He shook his head and turned it off, finishing up with the nebulizer when it began to sputter quietly, only a few drops left in the medication cup. He disassembled everything and placed the parts aside to be washed later. He would normally do it now, but he wanted to grab some food first because the toast had only the immediate need for food. His stomach growled for more.

Making sure the doors were locked, Scott exited through the garage and situated himself on his bike, though not without casting a longing glance at the dirt bike beside him. He had got it running for a while the day before, but it had died almost immediately, so he was stuck with the regular pedal powered bicycle. He sighed and fastened his helmet, pushing the remote to open the garage door. He pedaled out onto the driveway leisurely and shut everything behind him before pulling out onto the quiet street.

Scott never even realized he had begun to sing as he rode down the hill. "The sea… that we see dance… along the clear gulfs…"

…oOo…

It was becoming increasingly difficult to concentrate.

Allison had noticed it sometime yesterday, a pressure building behind her eyes which had gradually amplified over time until it became too much to ignore. She had tried everything to make it go away, but it seemed to just get worse and worse as time went on. Her marks were usually high in school, but today had been a very off day. Today was even rather light, considering it was only a few language courses, a history class, and an art elective.

The first language class had been bearable. She had nearly fallen asleep during history, however, and only made it through lunch by napping during a free hour. Her second language course had been much more difficult. She struggled with the pronunciation and grammar, and in the end had to visit the infirmary for a brief moment. She was almost done with the day, already in the art studio, the hour almost up, and then just one class after that. She mixed more paint onto her palette with the dull knife to give the illusion of actually doing something.

Allison wished she could blame the migraine for the disaster on the canvas, but had to concede to herself that there was a certain amount of talent that one needed to paint and she was sorely lacking. She sighed and adjusted her headphones, listening to the poetic cadence of Charles Trenet come through the speakers. She had been working her way through a playlist for the past hour while painting this monstrosity, but even that had not helped inspire her to do more than smear paint around with the knife.

 _Nearly done,_ she thought, glancing down at the watch around her wrist. She waited until others began shuffling around the room to begin washing up, not wanting to seem too eager to get out of the room. Admittedly, the smell of the turpentine and the oils from the paint had not helped her head at all, but also managed to make her a bit queasy. She finished cleaning the instruments and packing them away, but was waylaid in setting the painting away to dry.

Madame Marceau was studying it with a critical eye.

Allison grimaced momentarily before managing to plaster a smile on her face. She stood in wait of judgement and was stunned when the slender old woman turned around and gripped her shoulders unexpectedly, beaming widely with something akin to pride.

"Magnifique," Madame Marceau said happily. "Votre meilleur travail à ce jour ! Je peux vraiment sentir l'émotion ! Très abstrait. J'en attends plus de ce genre à l'avenir."

Allison was taken aback by the exuberant praise. Her best work to date? "Merci," she uttered back, not even sure how the painting conveyed any sort of feeling other than boredom, but apparently that meant it was abstract. She deflated a bit, giving the painting a considering look, one head tilting as if that might make it better.

It looked even worse.

The woman began to walk away, pausing only to click her tongue in disappointment at the beautiful still life a classmate had produced. "Prévisible," she sighed, moving on to the next and tisking unhappily at that one as well.

Allison shook her head and moved to put the painting away. She decided that she would never understand art or eccentric artists. She made her way to the last lesson of the day, relieved that it was English. Her instructor was actually a woman from Canada who had lived for a time in the United States. She insisted on being as immersive as possible, so all lessons were done entirely in English now that they understood the basics. It had been difficult in the beginning, but it proved to be quite effective.

The classroom was still filling up when Allison joined her classmates, taking her usual seat near the window and putting her headphones away. She pulled a pen and notebook out of her bag along with the textbook and waited for class to begin. Soon the classroom was full and Miss Morell stood from behind the desk and moved to stand in front of it. She smoothed the long black pants of her suit and smiled slightly.

"Good afternoon," she greeted loftily. "You can put your textbooks away today." She waited until everyone was done doing so before continuing. "Today you will be conversing with one another and transcribing the conversation on paper. That paper will be submitted to me at the end of the lesson for grading, so please pay attention to proper grammar and spelling. Consider this a mock version of your final assessment in a few months."

Several people groaned at the assignment and Allison wanted to echo the sentiment. She was one of the better students in the class, but speaking a language was one thing and writing in it was another. She sighed to herself and felt the hope of a quiet hour slipping away as she watched as the room fell silent while the teacher stared everyone down until they fell silent.

"Keep in mind that what you talk about isn't necessarily as important is how you talk about it. I am more interested in your understanding of the language than I am the topic of discussion, so talk about anything you want. Movies, books, music, or even what you ate for lunch earlier. Each of you will be randomly sorted into pairs that I have already predetermined," Miss Morell resumed, holding up a slip of paper. "When I call your name, please stand and join your partner for the assignment. Since there is an uneven number of students in this class, one of you will be partnering with me."

Allison bit back her amusement as several of the students perked up at that last bit, shaking her head at the obvious crush they had for the teacher. They had been pining since September and the woman seemed either completely oblivious or just uncaring about it all. Not that she could blame her. Allison had her fair share of admirers, but few had ever plucked up the courage to speak with her. She tuned out most of the names being called and waited for her own.

Confusion crept up a bit when it wasn't called and that was when Allison realized that everyone else had already been paired up. She looked toward the front of the room and Miss Morell gestured for her to join. She gathered her things and went to sit in the spare chair that had been pulled up to the desk, smiling hesitantly at the other woman.

"You can start when you're ready," the teacher said straightforwardly, with a pointed look at the pen that was still capped and notebook that was still closed. "Don't forget to transcribe what we are saying."

Nodding in reply, Allison turned to a free page and uncapped the pen, writing her name and the date at the top. She hesitated only a moment before writing her name again, this time on one of the lines, followed by a single quotation mark. "How should I start?" she asked.

Miss Morrell only smiled. "That works," she said, gesturing for Allison to begin writing, and added, "You could also try introducing yourself. Talk about your interests. Your family will work too. Remember, the topic is not nearly as important as your comprehension of the language itself."

Allison scribbled down what had been said already, pausing a moment to double check her spelling, and then looked up again. "My name is Allison Argent," she said haltingly, searching her mind for anything else to say. "I have recently discovered that I will never be good at art and should have probably chosen a different elective."

"A bit formal," Miss Morell commented. "Otherwise, very good. Do you have a favorite sport? I enjoy tennis and football, though more to watch than to play myself."

Allison smiled. "I never really got into those kinds of sports. I have always preferred archery and gymnastics. My parents actually tried to talk me into entering a national competition last year for archery. I almost entered, but we had just moved so I was more concerned with unpacking and getting settled at the time."

"You must be quite the accomplished archer to consider entering a national competition," the other woman commented. "Do you think you might enter this year instead?"

Allison frowned in consideration. "I haven't really thought about it," she confessed, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. "I do know that we will be moving again soon though, so probably not."

Miss Morell nodded. "Does your family move often?"

"Yes," she answered, managing to keep her voice free of vexation. "This is the longest we've ever really stayed in one place. I was born in here France, but we have lived in several places. Spain and Italy primarily, but I have been to England and even Australia once."

"You're well-traveled then," she said. "Why so many places?"

Allison could only shrug again. "My father mainly. He has to travel… souvent?" She asked, not entirely sure of the work.

"Often."

"Yes, he has to travel often," she said, smiling in thanks. "He mostly travels for work. Our family has several businesses and my father visits them all regularly. He has traveled more than I have though. He's actually traveling right now, visiting my grandfather in the United States. They are establishing another branch there."

"Oh? I have been there as well. Do you know what part of the States?"

"Some part of California." Allison said. "He never said where exactly."

"I've been to California several times." Miss Morell told her. "One of my dearest friends lived in a small town there for a time. She moved there with her husband since it was his hometown. She tried to get me to visit it a few times, but I'm afraid I never got to see it myself."

"Is she a teacher as well?"

"No. She was interested in the culinary arts when we met, but decided not to pursue it after getting married. She still talked about opening a small bistro café though. She was quite talented too, though she never went through with it. She wanted to raise her son instead. He was her everything… he's actually around your age now."

Allison smiled widely at the fond tone. "Perhaps your friend can pursue it now that her son is grown, then?"

Miss Morell stared for a long moment. Her serene expression never changed, but her eyes suddenly became harder… colder. "No. I'm afraid that is impossible." She gazed out to the rest of the room and stood abruptly. "That will be all for today. Please remember to sign your names and the date at the top of your papers and place them on my desk. You are all dismissed."

Allison bit her lip uncertainly and finished with her record of their conversation, hesitating over the last few lines. Her eyes caught on the line about the friend. She mentally double checked the tense for some of the words and her heart plummeted. Her teacher had been using past tense when speaking of the woman. She supposed that explained the unexpected end to the conversation as well as to class.

Miss Morell ignored everyone in favor of straightening up her desk, collecting the papers as the students began distributing them on the polished oak. Allison pushed hers to join the pile and stood to gather her things, shooting the woman an apologetic glance on her way out that went unnoticed. She sighed and made her way out of the building, trying to push it out of her mind, because there was nothing she could do about it now.

It was time to go home now anyway and Allison was grateful that the class had let out early. She was looking forward to crawling into her bed and sleeping the rest of this migraine off. She was almost to the main doors when she heard the sudden rumble of thunder and groaned, picking up the pace in order to peer outside.

The torrent of rain was already coming down hard and Allison regretted not taking her mother's offer for a ride earlier. In her defense it had been bright and sunny then, not even a cloud in the sky; come to think of it, the skies had been mostly clear when she'd sat by the window forty minutes ago. Allison frowned in confusion, not sure where the rainstorm had come from, but she supposed the downpour could have been sudden.

Briefly considering bothering her mother, Allison finally decided against it. She was close enough to home and it seemed to already be lightening up. She took a moment to put her coat on and button it up before pulling the hood over her head. Her headphones were already back in place for the walk home, _Ta Douleur_ by Camille already playing in her ear, drowning out the sound of the rain.

Allison stilled the moment she stepped outside. She gazed around in incomprehension because it was gone. The rain had disappeared. She could have understood if it had simply ceased, leaving behind puddles along the side of the road and the air fresh with the smell of it, but there was nothing. Everything was dry, not even droplets clinging to the trees or flowers scattered around the buildings, as if it had never begun raining.

Pulling the hood back slowly, Allison turned around slowly, not entirely sure what just happened. She reached up and pinched the bridge of her nose, hoping to alleviate some of the pressure behind her eyes, all the while trying to think of some kind of explanation. She might have been more willing to let it go had it not been for the vision of the woman yesterday. She was having vivid dreams of suicidal women she had seen once in a restaurant and now realistic hallucinations of rain.

It was as troubling as it was confusing.

Allison sighed heavily and unbuttoned the coat, suddenly too warm with the sun shining down on her. She stiffed as something flashed above, electricity spreading swiftly as another cracking rumble echoing through the clear sky. She turned the volume up on the song, feeling shaken by it all, and began walking on resolute in getting home as quickly as possible.

The young woman never noticed Miss Morell watching her through the window.

…oOo…

It was the lightning that woke Lydia up from her satisfying slumber. She could see the sudden spark of the rapidly heated air as the shock wave was formed, green eyes sliding open just as the powerful rumble echoed above head traveling slower than the light, and smiling at the sound of the rain crashing down upon the roof. She stretched languidly, groaning at the pleasant ache to her muscles, and glanced out the window. It was already dark out, but there were streaks of light reflecting from the rain.

A hand suddenly draped itself over her waist and Lydia fought the primitive need to recoil. She sighed at the reminder that she had company, but smiled tiredly when her hair was pulled from her neck and lips brushed her ear. His name was Brian and he was the first boy she had brought home in a while. They had started out studying for their advanced placement class together three weeks ago, but the attraction had been present since the beginning of the semester and had lingered on for months.

Naturally things had been progressing since their studying sessions began and tonight had been exactly what Lydia had needed to unwind and let go of some of the tension that had been building. She had never even made it out of her dress, teasingly fooling around with one another over their clothes, just a taste of what could be in the future. Her only regret was that there had been a migraine building in her head for the longest time and it showed no signs of going away.

That had made the encounter a bit difficult to enjoy, but at least her body had something to focus on other than the mounting pain. It was still there unfortunately, that pressure in her head, and she sighed again. Lydia had hoped to sleep it off, but at least there had been no more delusions of crazy women running through the woods and committing suicide.

Brian took the sigh another way though. "Hey beautiful," he whispered against her, releasing a sigh of his own into her hair. She turned her head and glanced at him coyly from beneath her lashes. He stared at her intensely, blue eyes bright with interest and pupils already dilated with attraction, his throat working as he swallowed.

"Hey," Lydia echoed, twisting in his arms to run a hand over his impressive biceps. Her eyes trailed down his sculpted chest, smirking at the sight of the slightly red marks there from her nails and teeth. The first one had been an accident, but after seeing just much a little bit of pain affected him, the marks had become more deliberate. Her new boy had a pain kink. She had never been into it before, but there was something intriguing about it.

It was a mere second after admiring the scratches that Lydia noticed a warm pressure against her back. She smirked again and twisted, rising up until she was on her knees and hovering above him. She pulled the skirt of her dress up and placed one knee on either side of him, then sat back and allowed her weight to tease him briefly before settling on his stomach. He groaned and placed his hands on her hips, staring up at her with encouraging eyes.

"You are so incredibly hot like this," Brian told her, fingers flexing slightly and bunching up the fabric of her dress. He eased back against the headboard and gave the dress a tug, a suggestion falling from his mouth that sounded more like a plea. "We should take this off."

Lydia tilted her head considering. She had pretty strict rules about boys. They had to be at least somewhat intelligent, had to respect that she controlled the pace of their relationship, and that they needed to wait for permission before actually doing anything. While neither had done much more than try to get one another off creatively during a heated make out session, it had been months since Lydia had been with anyone, and Brian had ticked all of those marks and was both attractive and sweet.

Perhaps a little bit more of a taste was in order.

"So take it off."

Brian swallowed again at her sultry suggestion, releasing a shuttering breath. He sat up more and reached behind her, fumbling for the zipper as he began placing kisses against her neck. "Shit," he gasped out when she scratched down his chest, long fingernails catching on one of the welts. "Aiden was totally wrong about you. You're amazing."

The hint of praise could not overshadow the name drop and Lydia stilled abruptly, eyes narrowing calculatingly as she pushed him back against the headboard. He went easily despite how much weaker she was than him physically, but he was practically putty in her hands now and seemed pretty willing to let her take the lead. She slowly tilted her head in a practiced move, running her fingers through her tousled hair and exposing her long neck. He watched with rapt attention and she knew he was suitably distracted.

"Aiden?" she murmured softly, smile becoming a bit plastic. She fought the urge to groan, this time from displeasure as possible explanations came to mind, and tapped her fingers along his abdomen. "What does he have to do with this?"

Brian was ignorant of her ire. "Aiden said you were a prude," he said, brain clearly not having caught up to his mouth yet. "He said I would never get anywhere with you. I almost believed him since you strung him along for nearly a year, but there must have been something wrong with him because you are incredibly sexy and gorgeous like this. He's gonna be so pissed when he finds out that I am the one you choose to mess around with. Not him."

Any hint of rekindled arousal had long since faded. His words had less than their desired effect, though honestly, how Brian thought that insulting bit of praise and discussing a former paramour would actually work on anyone with half a brain was beyond her. Lydia had thought him to be more intelligent than that, but clearly she had overestimated him based solely on his grade point average and his focus of studies.

Brian had been everything she liked in a pretty package. She should have known better than to assume there was any substance behind it, but that was on her for being distracted by a nice physique. Brian was on a roll though, apparently misreading the situation even further.

"Just for me," he said possessively. "He just didn't treat you right, did he? He's kind of a moron, but what can you expect from someone like that?"

Lydia felt her jaw tighten. She and Aiden had not parted on the best of terms, so she could forgive the comment about her being prude, but something about that final comment irked her. "Someone like what?" she asked lightly.

"You know." He waved one hand dismissively. "You've spent time with him. He lives in the worst part of town and goes to school on some scholarship like a charity case. Not like the rest of us that actually belong there. He should stick to someone more in his own league. Not to mention that weirdo brother of his—Ethan. There's something not right about him either..."

Lydia listened to the booming thunder and pulled one knee back over him, twisting to sit on the edge of the bed as she righted the skirt of her dress and adjusted the bodice. Her lips pursed together at the feel of his hands on her back. He apparently took that as permission to draw the zipper down, but she pulled away and rose gracefully to her feet. She reached behind her and righted the zipper, ignoring his wounded expression blithely; she had better things to do than listen to pure idiocy coming from someone who was apparently too high up on themselves.

"… You're kind of a tease," he said, shifting uncomfortably, clearly taking her sudden disinterest for flirting.

Lydia placed a plastic smile on her face. "It is pretty late," she said, gesturing to the clock, which showed that it was indeed well into nine o'clock. "My mother will be home soon too, so it's probably best that you leave."

It was a lie. Her mother was at a conference in Bethesda and would only be back on Sunday, but Brian didn't need to know that little detail. In any case his eyes glanced at the side table and then widened when he realized the time. She watched in bemusement as all thoughts of possibly getting lucky were replaced with panic and Brian scrambled from the bed urgently, tripping over the comforter as he lunged for his discarded shirt and pants which were scattered around her room.

"My parents are going to kill me," he said absently, focused on trying to fit his legs into his rumpled jeans. "I was supposed to be home hours ago. We should have paid more attention to the time."

"Mmm," Lydia hummed, a sculpted eyebrow rising as she crossed her arms. She was trying to think of a tactful way to let him know this would never happen again, but the way his muscles moved beneath his skin was admittedly distracting. It was such a waste. He was the first nice boy in a long time and quite good with his fingers, but he had to go and ruin it with ignorant comments. She would rather have someone like Aiden over someone like Brian any day.

At least Aiden had been upfront about being an asshole. Brian hid it all beneath a charming façade. She was just glad to have realized now it before she gave him more than a little taste. It would have been messier if they had decided to do more than just fool around.

Walking downstairs to the door, Lydia tapped her fingernails against the doorjamb impatiently when the man seemed to hesitate to leave. He seemed to be unaware of the fact that he had failed so miserably, but she would ensure he realized it soon enough. She rubbed at her temples and raised a condescending eyebrow at his indecision.

"You were wonderful," he said, leaning forward to press a kiss against her lips. He pulled back with a smirk, looking equal parts expectant and hopeful. "We should do this again." He was already moving before she could respond, walking down to his car with a jaunty hop to his step.

Lydia closed the door more forcefully than intended. "Asshole," she muttered, feeling decidedly tacky after all of this. She wanted to take a shower and wash off all the remnants of their previous activities. He definitely had another thing coming if he thought they would be doing any of this again. She would rather subject herself to spending the rest of the school year with her father and the brunette that was only three years older than her.

Releasing an aggravated breath, Lydia made her way back up the stairs and into her bathroom. She made quick work of the shower, making the water extra hot in order to help relax her muscles, and dressed in a pair comfortable sweats and a plain shirt. She brushed her hair as she pursued her bookcase, trying to find something to read to clear her mind.

Perhaps something on human behavior, specifically why in the primate species, males sought to spread their genes by devoting extraordinary efforts to finding and securing mates… only to ruin it by allowing a competitive and possessive compulsion to dominate overrule their baser needs. She sighed, irritated with herself for letting this get to her, and forwent anything scientific in favor of latest issue of her favorite magazine in hopes of finding some mindless beauty tip or pointless celebrity articles to distract her.

Lydia settled into bed and studied the photograph of the most recent up and coming model on the cover. It was a bit unusual that someone so unknown would be on the cover, but apparently when there are rumors of an acting career as well as a bit of a gay scandal, there are exceptions. It helped that this particular model was quite photogenic.

 _Jackson Whittemore,_ she read the caption, drawn to the blue eyes briefly. She had the strangest feeling looking at him. As if she had seen the man somewhere before, though unsure where… possibly from an earlier issue? She shook her head, tearing her eyes away to read the rest of the cover. _Secret romantic get away with unknown young man! Are the rumors true? Exclusive interview inside!_

"Are the rumors true?" Lydia murmured, flipping the magazine open in search of the right page. She settled on the correct one and blinked at the picture of the model with an attractive tanned young man caught in an embrace on some secluded beach. She raised an eyebrow, wondering how anyone could misconstrue that as romantic. "Probably not…"

Lydia read it anyway. The simple misunderstanding that nearly derailed someone's entire career was much more interesting than her own relationship problems. It helped that there were a lot of pictures, because she took great pleasure in the fact that Jackson Whittemore was much more attractive than Brian could ever hope to be.

…oOo…

Stiles had hoped the shower would help.

Since there was an hour to spare, he had stayed under the warm spray for a long time, practically an hour in there waiting until the hot water had run out before deciding it was enough. He only felt marginally refreshed with no more traces of blood anywhere save for the deep scratches on his palms. He was got ready for school mechanically, throwing on an old band shirt and pulling on a hoodie, slipping into a fresh pair of jeans. He still looked tired and a bit out of it, but it was a far cry from earlier.

Piling the necessary books into his bag, Stiles hesitated briefly on what he actually needed to take to school. He blamed the insomnia for just how long it took to figure out that he had to take his history book today instead of economics and the nightmare for the fact that all the neatly stacked papers that made up various homework assignments had been dispersed randomly around the room. He was grateful that tomorrow was the start of the weekend though, because today was going to be bad enough with hateful teachers and spiteful peers.

"Hey." His father said quietly, interrupting his musings and causing Stiles to turn. The man had also gotten ready for the day, dressed in the uniform with shiny badge in place… his sidearm holstered at his hip. There was something undecided about him too. He was clearly torn between staying or heading off to the station. "You alright?"

Stiles nodded and looked away, eyes clenched from the sight of the gun. _Nothing I haven't seen a million times. Just ignore it…_ he thought. _Just ignore it._

"All ready for school?"

"Yeah, yeah," Stiles nodded again, turning back around. "I'm good." It was no use though, because that answer only made the man look even more worried than before, frown deepening until the lines in his forehead were prominent and head tilting in question. "Dad, seriously… I'm fine. It was just a nightmare."

Still unconvinced, his father sighed. "Alright. Just… call me later, okay? Check in. I haven't seen you like that in…" He hesitated, choosing his words carefully, and eventually settling on "A long time." Six years. That was what the man should have said. They both knew it, but neither would say it.

"Yeah," Stiles breathed out, trying to look anywhere but the utility belt. He settled instead on the box the man was carrying. "What's that?"

"Just… files from the office," he said vaguely, and Stiles felt his curiosity stir. He read the bright yellow label taped across the side of the box and felt a sting of amusement.

Stiles bit down on his lip to conceal his grin. "Sheriff's Station," His eyes flickered upward, brows rising high in question. "Do not remove?"

"Yeah, well…" he muttered, not quite defensively but not with half the amount of amusement that Stiles felt at the fact that his father was kind of breaking the law. The man only made it worse when he added, "I am the sheriff. I can remove it if I damn well want to." He turned to leave, pausing only briefly. "You're sure everything is okay?"

Stiles smiled, feeling a bit better than before. "Yeah," he said. "Try not to work too hard today."

"In this town?" he replied mockingly, smirking a bit. "I'll try not to, kiddo. I should be home early tonight unless anything happens. Remember to take your medication before you leave. "

Stiles rubbed at his temples the moment the man was gone though, the headache a bit better today though not by much. He could live through it though. He sighed to himself and made his way downstairs. He made himself a glass of juice and pursued the refrigerator for something to eat. He settled on some left over pizza from the night before and finished that before retrieving a dose from the medicine cabinet.

Not too soon later it became apparent that Stiles needed to leave if he intended to make his first class. He moved reluctantly, but eventually piled into his Jeep and made his way to the school. He had only just pulled into a parking space and stepped out onto the asphalt when someone slammed into him from behind, sending both Stiles and the bag to the floor.

Stiles clambered to his feet and spun around, catching sight of the perpetrator only a few cars down. "Real mature, asshole!" His shout received a few glances from a few bystanders, but otherwise when ignored by the one responsible. He recognized him from the lacrosse team, the little freshmen with a superiority complex that had stolen the title of captain right out from under Greenberg during tryouts.

It was loud in the hallways when Stiles made his way to his locker. He kept only the slightly crumpled paper on male erectile dysfunction for biology, feeling a flash of amusement at what the teacher would look like reading it, and the textbook before shoving everything else inside to be retrieved later. He had just finished clicking the lock back into place when a timid voice spoke up from beside him.

"You're bleeding."

Stiles turned to look at the blonde who was busy locking her own locker only one away from his. He looked down, the sight of the blood making his stomach churn once again, though at least this time Stiles didn't feel as though he might be sick. He turned his hands over and realized that one of the scratches had reopened. He picked out the stray rock and debated if heading to the bathroom to wash his hands off was worth it.

A small little white packet was held out though, the girl offering it to him with a hesitant smile. He took it curiously, noticing that it was a moist toilette, and quickly ripped the packet open. It stung a bit from the alcohol, but he held it against the wound without complaint to stop the bleeding. He nodded at the girl gratefully.

"Thanks, Erica." He offered her a half smile, not having the energy to do much else. He was a bit confused by the startled took he received, but was interrupted by the shrill cry of the warning bell before he could comment on it. He waved at her and made his way to his first class, automatically turning in the paper and taking a seat in the middle. He grinned to himself as the teacher read the title and then immediately looked to the ceiling with frustration.

Stiles snickered and settled in for the lecture to begin. At least tormenting the teachers brought a little joy to the whole high school experience.


End file.
